Thirsty - M. T. Anderson [29]
“Will the two of them be okay?” I ask.
Chet nods. “The vampires will assume I’m saving them for sometime when I come home late and just want something quick.” He pockets his keys and rattles them.
The church looks like it was built sometime in the early sixties, and it has a wild sloping roof that peaks in a thin metal cross. The stained glass windows look like they’re all just fragments of different colors, but I can’t see too well because there’s not much light coming from inside.
We walk up the flagstone path to the church. There must be a pond nearby, because I can hear the woody burping of the bullfrogs through the thick, dank forest.
The concrete of the church’s basement level is chipped and dislocated. The wood is faded, and damp black cracks meander through it.
There are a few people lingering by the front door, at the top of some concrete steps. “Jill, I’m so happy to hear that,” says the man.
“Isn’t it great?” she says.
Chet walks up the steps and says, “Bob! Jill!” and holds out his hand.
They say, “Hi, Chet!” and “Good to see you, Chet!” and shake his hand.
I am looking at them strangely because there is something wrong with the way they are. It’s like a movement I can’t detect, or a strange double shadow fizzing at the edge of their outline.
“This is Christopher,” says Chet. “He’s come to meet the whole gang.”
They smile at me, and the Jill one says, “Great to have you — go right in,” and we walk in.
Inside is a large parish hall with weighty curved beams arching across the roof. There’s a buffet with lots of casseroles at one end, and ten tables have been set up and covered with paper tablecloths. The hall is filled with people. Some are sitting and laughing, eating green beans or talking and poking at the air with their plastic forks. Others are standing, holding styrofoam plates and laughing to one another. Some little toddlers are running from one end of the hall to the other, until a woman in a purple skirt and pink running shoes goes over and grabs one of their arms and I guess tells them to be quiet.
All of them have the double shadow, except some of the kids, and Chet. I squint to see if it goes away, but it doesn’t.
Chet smiles and waves like a politician, and they look at him sort of respectfully. I see a few teenagers over in one corner, whispering among themselves. The oldest one is an imposing guy of about eighteen or nineteen, who is wearing a jean jacket with the arms taken off. He has a bat tattoo on his upper arm. There are some girls standing around him, and I wonder if one of them is Lolli Chasuble.
“I’ll be right back,” says Chet to me. “Just sit down and try and be unobtrusive.”
I am frightened, and I pull out a folding chair with a clattering that would be loud enough to wake the dead, if they weren’t already serving themselves macaroni and cheese at the other end of the room. I sit down. I do not want the teenagers to come over and talk to me. I do not like meeting new people and always say something dumb. I especially hate meeting new people with fangs.
Chet has strolled across the room and is talking with some important-looking men.
Near me, there is a little girl in sagging brown leggings who is scraping her styrofoam plate with the edge of her fork. She pushes aside a chunk of cartilage and says to her father, “I’m done. Can I have more? Can I have more?”
He leans down close to the table and says precisely, “May I have more?”
I have figured out by now about the double shadows. Vampires. I must be able to see who is a vampire now that I am becoming one. This must be how that woman with the blonde hair saw me right before she was lynched. Vampiro-scopic vision. She must have thought I was a traitor because I was not helping her out. Maybe I was a traitor.
I look into the Dixie cups sitting on the table near me. They’re filled with red punch. It looks like wild strawberry flavor.
I sniff it. It really is wild strawberry flavor. I don’t understand why these vampires are eating human food. I make a mental note